


Nightfall

by kendrawriter32



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 1940s, Aliens, Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, F/M, Horror, Interracial Relationship, Original Character(s), Racism, Romance, Time Travel, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 20:39:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4760207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kendrawriter32/pseuds/kendrawriter32
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set some time after "Family of Blood", but before "Blink". AU, because "Blink" and the following adventures of Martha and The Doctor will change slightly as result of what I'm going to do to their relationship. Also AU because I'm giving a different spin on the Lupine Wavelength-Haemovariform The Doctor and Rose encountered in "Tooth and Claw". It's kind of based on a combination of that and the Werelok in a Doctor Who comic I read about, plus other werewolf plots throughout the Who universe. But it'll be the first time The Doctor, in his Tenth incarnation, will encounter it.</p><p>Does that make sense? Hope so! The simple answer is that it's just for fun on my part. I got the idea for this because I was listening to the blues singer Howlin' Wolf. I can't really explain it beyond that – I just started writing and this is what came out! Hope you like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**One.**

"Alright then, Martha Jones! You know what to do." The Doctor clapped his hands once and rubbed them together excitedly, leaning forward to squint at the monitor attached to the control console of his beloved time machine/space ship, the TARDIS. He blew air through his pursed lips and poised his fingers over the control panel below the monitor. "Gimme a number – any number – between one and one hundred."

Martha grinned, used to this game by now. "Em…four."

"Four!" The Doctor punched in the coordinates on the control panel. He pointed at her, not looking up from what he was doing. "Another!"

"Twenty eight?"

"Yah…" he punched that in, and made a spinning gesture with the finger he was still pointing at her. "Hit me baby, one more time?" He said the lyric to the pre-mental Britney Spears song like he was asking Martha to pass the pudding.

Martha pretended to think about it. He glanced up at her, one eyebrow raised, as she held off giving her answer. Their eyes met. Martha wasn't exactly _trying_ to be cheeky, but she sometimes couldn't help herself. It was her odd little habit these days traveling with The Doctor – nearing the end of their fifth month together – since she had long since given up hope that he would ever, ever acknowledge that she was in love with him. Or reciprocate.

It wasn't exactly his fault. She had worked hard before they left 1913 to assure him she would've said anything to get him to change back into a Time Lord. And she _would_ have – it just so happened that what she said was the truth. Still, he took her at her word and they never mentioned it again. Now, Martha didn't know if it was out of resentment or heartbreak (perhaps both) but she sometimes found slyly flirting with him to make him uncomfortable strangely…cathartic.

So he looked at her, and she didn't try to disguise the coy gleam in her eyes as she leaned forward across the console. She bit her lip. "Hmm…how about…sixty nine?"

"Sixty nine it is, then." He tore his gaze away from hers and resumed squinting at the monitor as he punched in the coordinates, either totally oblivious or choosing to ignore her attempt at a dirty joke. Then did a gleeful face. "Ooh!"

"Where to this time?" Martha sighed and resolved to dive into their next adventure, shoving aside her frustration with his aloofness.

She wouldn't give up traveling with him for the world, she knew. But, she had to admit, it was painful sometimes, the rejection. When they stayed busy, running or fighting or getting into things on strange planets and in strange times, she was fine. It was only these in-between times – these alone times with no one but them in the TARDIS – when it got hard for Martha to ignore her feelings of longing. For his part, The Doctor carried on as if they were merely roommates on an extended road trip. Which was exactly what they were, but Martha couldn't escape her hope that one day they could be more. A part of her very well knew they probably never would, but then he would say or do something that would ignite that hope again within her. She was starting to resent that hope, even as she clung to it.

"It's a surprise!" The Doctor sang, dashing about madly as usual, adjusting controls here and there. He shooed her out of the way to ratchet up a lever that she'd been toying with absentmindedly. "But I'll give you a hint: it's Earth. Not your time, though. Okay, twentieth century, but that's all I'm telling you! Except I think you're really going to like it. Haven't been to these particular coordinates in…ooh…" he sucked in a breath, pausing to think about that. Martha smiled in amusement as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "Blimey, well, _never_ , actually. Can't have that, can we? _Anything_ could be happening!"

He unleashed a full-blown grin on her, which caused her heart to flutter as it always did, and released the hand break.

The TARDIS took off through the Vortex. They were jostled and thrown about a bit as the sentient machine jetted on a bumpy course towards their destination. Martha held on tight and the Doctor called out " _Allons-y!_ " His boyish enthusiasm was infectious, even through the turbulence, and she laughed.

" _Allons-y_!" she echoed, and they clasped hands over the console.

When they landed, The Doctor powered down the engine and secured the break.

"Hang on, but we've been to Earth in the twentieth century loads of times," Martha complained, crossing her arms. He poked his head from around the monitor to raise his eyebrows at her.

"Only twice, actually. And _you_ picked the coordinates, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

She turned to walk towards the doors, feeling that familiar sense of mounting anticipation running through her. It didn't matter where or when they landed. Stepping out of the TARDIS was like no other experience in the world. For those few seconds as The Doctor unlocked the doors, Martha always found herself filled to the brim with fear and excitement, and even a little high on the thrill of the unknown. After five months of traveling (well, technically two and a half were spent stuck in 1913 waiting for The Family of Blood to die), it never got old.

He was behind her suddenly, standing close. His proximity made her swallow and restrain herself from turning to look up into his eyes. She felt him lean closer, and then he was standing on his tiptoes, peering over her head out through the TARDIS' small windows. His long, billowy coat almost swallowed her whole. Martha didn't complain. "Hm."

"What?"

"Pitch black out there." He stepped to the side, lowering himself flat on his feet again, and grinned down at her. "After me!"

The Doctor unlocked the doors and pushed them both open wide like an explorer shoving open the entrance to a tomb of treasures. He stood in the doorway, peering out into the darkness. Martha's eyes adjusted and she could make out trees. They were surrounded by trees. "A forest?"

"So it would seem…" The Doctor muttered, stepping out of the TARDIS. Martha followed closely, closing the doors behind her. The absence of light from the console room made her wish she had remembered to grab a torch. She had a mind to go back for one, but The Doctor was already striding forward confidently.

"But where is…?" He paused in his stride and Martha bumped right into him.

" _Oi!_ " She grunted, grabbing his arm to steady herself. The ground here felt as though it was sloping downward.

"Shh!" The Doctor held a finger up. "Listen…"

Martha listened. She heard water rushing along somewhere nearby. It didn't sound powerful enough to be a river, but it definitely wasn't a lake. A tributary, probably.He gestured them forward and they walked on through the brush for a short while, moving at a snail's pace due to her short legs and ginger footsteps. She clung to his coat and he grumbled under his breath until they stopped short. They were at the top of some ridge...the land seemed to dip ahead of them, though Martha couldn't see worth a damn.

"Where are we?" she demanded in a whisper.

"Well, if I landed the TARDIS properly, and judging from how long we've been walking east, right now we should be somewhere near the – _Martha?_ "

She had lost her footing in an instant, and found herself sliding on her bum down a bumpy little hill. She clawed at the earth for an upturned tree root or something to halt herself but she only managed to collect fistfuls of mud and grass. Then, in about eight seconds, Martha was sitting up to her hips in water. "Ohhh, I'm gonna _murder_ you!"

"…the Tibbee Creek." The Doctor finished feebly from above her.

"Help me out of this!"

"Right. Coming. Sorry."

Martha looked up at the sky. It was full of clouds, obscuring the stars and moon. She could barely see her hand in front of her face. She heard the Doctor gingerly making his way down to her. She stood up slowly, her shoes sinking into muddy earth below the water surface. She cursed under her breath. Then a slender hand, barely visible in the dark, appeared near her head. The Doctor wiggled his fingers at her. "Up you get."

She rolled her eyes and took hold of his hand, turning to hoist her self back up the little hill. The water, since she was standing, only came up to just above her ankles. She was on the bank of the steadily flowing creek, and from here the rushing water sound was more pronounced.

Her jeans were completely soaked and soggy with mud. Martha chewed down on her annoyance as she tried to climb back up the steep bank with The Doctor's help.

Of course, he shifted his weight wrong and slipped himself, plunging them both back into the murky water.

"Oh, this is just _lovely_!"

"My coat!" The Doctor moaned, observing his now mud-stained coat in the inky darkness. "Janis Joplin gave me this coat…and awww my Chucks! My _red_ ones, these are my favorites…!"

Martha chucked a wad of muddy grass at him. Then she giggled.

"Right."

"Oh no, you don't--!"

Too late. The Doctor seized her and began dragging her towards him in the sludgy earth. Martha yelped and twisted her body to get away from him but he was strong for such a skinny bloke. He pulled her to him, dodging her attacks, until she found herself pressed in his arms, bracing her hands against his chest. She breathed in, and smelled his spicy aftershave even over the reedy creek smell. It was a heady scent, especially when it mingled with his natural smell. Martha could never quite place it, sometimes it reminded her of different things. Pleasant things. Vanilla or popcorn or a warm summer day or her father's leather jacket…

"Give up, or I can't be held responsible for the consequences, Jones," he muttered, his face inches from hers. Martha was sure he could feel her heart beating in time with his under her palms. She was sure he must've realized how his closeness was affecting her. Didn't he? He smiled lopsidedly; innocently; oblivious.

Then he put mud in her hair. Martha's jaw dropped, and she reached down, grabbing a giant wad of boggy earth and squashing it into his tie. "Fat chance!"

Muck and creek water began to fly as they began to chuck it at one another. Martha squealed as the stuff flew at her and growled when The Doctor effortlessly dodged her attacks. When a big clomp of marshy goo landed square in the middle of her chest and began trickling slimily down between her breasts, Martha threatened to push him full body into the creek.

"Truce!" He called, and they sagged into the hilly bank on their backs, both breathing hard from the exertion.

Martha stared up at the black, cloudy sky. She thought she could make out little snatches of moonlight, hidden behind an endless precession of giant, inky clouds. "So, what exactly am I supposed to 'really like' about this, then?"

"Oh, the music!" The Doctor exclaimed, as if he had only just remembered. He turned to lay on his side, propping his elbow under his chin. She could hardly make him out, but she could tell that he was grinning. She turned to give him an incredulous look.

"What music? So far we've only managed to have a mud ball fight."

"Oh, well, yeah that wasn't part of the plan. Though it _was_ fun, eh? Oh but the _music_ , Martha! During this time, some of the best music of the century originated here. Legends! Ohh, I've always wanted to see the start of it all. Muddy Waters – no pun intended – Son House, Lovely Lucille, though she died before things really took off…"

"Wait, where and when _are_ we exactly?" Martha recognized those names. Growing up with her parents, who played ancient blues records and early rock and roll all through her youth, she had come to know these names very well. She suddenly got a very bad feeling.

"1940s Mississppi, of course. Well – White Station, to be exact. Hmmm…'38 or '39, I think. They're just getting the first good breath of fresh air after being stifled by The Great Depression for nearly a decade. And _this_ is when the music _really_ starts catching fire, Martha. Oh, you'll _love_ it – what?"

Her feeling confirmed, Martha stared at the dark outline of The Doctor's face. "You've _got_ to be joshin' me…"

"Quite serious." Suddenly the clouds parted from obscuring the moon and she could see that he was giving her a face to prove that he was, in fact, serious.

"Doctor…look at me. _Really look at me_. Do you foresee a problem, here?"

"I _am_ really looking at you, Martha Jones, and you've got mud on your face." He grinned. She glowered.

"Aside from the mud, Doctor. Me? In 1940s Mississippi?"

He frowned at her, totally missing her point. And then: "Oh. Riiiight…"

"Back to the TARDIS, then, yeah?"

"Hang on – since when did you care about that? It never stopped you before."

"I spent almost three months in 1913 scrubbing up after you and a whole town full of people who made it a point everyday to remind me of my 'place', remember? Don't think I'm quite ready to dive back into that just yet, thanks."

He looked at her for a long time, a shadow in his eyes. She could tell that he was thinking back to that time. She wondered if he was also thinking about what she had confessed in that time's darkest hour. Then he sighed. "Back to the TARDIS, then."

He sat up and got to his feet, then leaned over to help her up. She allowed him to pull her to her feet and looked up into his face. All traces of amusement were gone. She couldn't tell if he was disappointed or remorseful or what. She was now regretting what she'd said. Maybe she should tell him she was just kidding?

The moonlight was very bright now. She turned once more to look up at the sky. It was a full moon. It was beautiful, and very large. She didn't recall ever seeing one so big and luminous. For a shadow of a moment, she thought back to the very first time she met The Doctor; the Judoon platoon on the moon. His words. He was so cute and charming…even in a crisis. She was on the point of telling him never mind about going back to the TARDIS, when:

"Martha, don't move."

Suddenly he was standing in front of her, shielding her. His body was tense in a certain way, and it made Martha go rigid with fear in response.

"What is it?" she whispered.

He was gazing vigilantly across the creek, at the bank on the other side. Martha scanned the landscape, and then her eyes caught site of something that almost stopped her heart.

There, perched on the bank directly across the rushing waters of the creek, its eyes shining silvery white in the shadows, was an enormous black wolf.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two.**

"What do we do?" Martha hissed in his ear, causing him to wince.

The Doctor's gaze remained trained on the wolf, which was hunched down on its flanks, jaws peeled back to reveal its gleaming, deadly fangs. It was about ten long feet from the edge of the creek where they stood to where the wolf was perched just out of the brush clearing on the other side.

But even across that distance, The Doctor could see the animal's muscles were coiling to spring. It was more than just an abnormally large wolf. The Doctor knew instantly, with equal parts sinking dread and extreme curiosity, exactly what it was.

Sort of. There were many different things it could be. His problem was that there were too many possible answers, not too few. But the most important question was: _how did it end up_ _ **here?**_

"Back up," he murmured, his lips barely moving, "and when I say… _run_. Back to the TARDIS. As fast as you can."

"But can it swim fast eno-?"

"Martha, do as I say." He insisted. "Go. Now!"

He felt a rush of moving air behind him as Martha turned to scramble up the bank. He silently prayed that she would make it up to solid ground fast enough, but even as he did the beast was leaping towards them. The Doctor turned on his heel, jumped up and landed on one foot atop a jutting tree root. He scooped Martha's hand up in his and yanked her away up the little hill, drilling mud and grass under their feet as they ran.

He didn't hear the beast hit the water, and even as that made The Doctor's hearts seize, he made a mental note of it.

_Heightened strength! Jumped clean over a ten mile creek with little effort, check._

Any bit of information might help him work out just what they were dealing with…

Martha screamed.

…if they survived this.

The dreadful sounds of snarling and heavy paws on earth were _right behind them_.

_Hyper-accelerated speed, as well! Got it._

They ran back the way they came, the lights from the TARDIS windows shining wanly under the intense moonlight.

The Doctor knew it was too late. They wouldn't reach the safety of the TARDIS. He clamped down on Martha's hand and wheeled her around, pushing her against a tree. Then he whipped around, his coat fanning out like a cape, and threw himself in front of her, shielding her again. The wolf had leapt up and its huge jaw had been inches away from clamping down ferociously onto Martha's shoulder before The Doctor managed to snatch her away.

"Stop!" yelled The Doctor, thrusting a staying hand outward toward it.

Martha was trembling violently behind him. He pressed himself closer to her, as a sign that everything would be all right. He could tell she wanted to keep running but he also knew that she would throw _herself_ in front of the beast is she could, but he held her firmly in place, standing between her and the wolf. The animal came to a thundering halt, it's large eyes flickering silvery white under the moonlight.

_Shows signs of intelligence…that's good._

The wolf stood up on its hind legs, and it was easily eight feet tall, a terrifying mass of black fur and trembling muscle. It reared its head back and howled. Martha clamped her hands over her ears as the deafening sound reverberated into the night. When it looked down to glare at them again, The Doctor shook his head slowly at it, his eyes trained on those silvery orbs forbiddingly.

"If you want her, you'll have to go through me…" Martha let out a sound that asked him if he had lost his marbles. He ignored her, staring the beast down.

The thing hunched forward, growling deep within its throat, it's huge jaw dripping with saliva. It looked into The Doctor's eyes, and he saw what he needed. Fear. Oh, savagery, bloodlust, and cold fury to be sure – but he also saw a flicker of fear there.

And yes, there was also definitely intelligence. Just barely there, hidden in a labyrinth of animal instinct. If this thing could speak, The Doctor knew it would be asking _who are you?_

"I'm The Doctor. I can help you."

It snapped its jaws at them. Crouched lower in the soggy earth, its massive hind paws digging in while its front claws clenched – ready to attack.

"You're afraid…" The Doctor kept trying, his hand still outstretched. "You can't control this. But I can help you, if you let me."

The animal snarled at him.

"Otherwise…" The Doctor continued, his voice low and stony. "I can't be held responsible for the consequences."

As he said this, he observed that the wolf was wearing clothes. Or what was left of them. A filthy brown shirt, shredded to rags, and dark brown trousers, also ripped almost beyond recognition. There was blood splattered across the fabric, mixed in with mud and grass. Blood was also trailing along one side of its jaw.

The Doctor realized with fury that he and Martha were not to be its first kill tonight. "Doctor!" Martha whispered. "Someone's coming…they'll be killed!"

Both The Doctor and the wolf reacted as the sounds of running footsteps were suddenly drawing near, and then he could see torch lights weaving and swaying somewhere ahead of them in the trees. "Here!" a deep voice shouted. "I heard it comin' from over here, Mister John!"

The wolf swung its massive head back around to The Doctor again, and he opened his mouth to plead for the lives of the men approaching. Before he could speak, however, the thing turned and bounded back where it came from, towards the creek. He watched its progress, transfixed, as it leapt off the bank and soared over the creek effortlessly, landing on all fours on the other side. Under a slither of cloud cover, it was gone.

Then the brush parted and about a dozen men surrounded them, torches and guns raised. "Hold up, don't you _move_ goddamnit!" Someone bellowed.

The Doctor shielded his eyes from the torch lights. "We're unarmed!"

"Explain yaself, Jack…" the voice demanded. "What you doin' back here in these woods, huh? Don't you know there's a goddamn _demon_ on the loose out here? You gon' get yaself _killed_ , an' us wit you!"

"I _said_ we're unarmed!" The Doctor insisted through clenched teeth, still shielding his eyes. "Please, lower your weapons, there's no need for them."

"Huh." Grunted the voice. "There's where you dead wrong, Jack. You and ya lady there oughta thank Jesus it was _us_ come outta them trees and not the thing we're huntin'. Else you'd be in pieces, like a few others dumb enough to wander near this creek 'unarmed'."

"You're _hunting_ it?" The Doctor demanded, his free hand clenching to a fist. "To kill it."

That last bit wasn't a question. Humans. Of course they were afraid, but then so was that 'thing' they planned to gun down.

Finally, the men lowered their torches and guns, and the owner of the voice stepped forward. He was a tall black man, slender but muscular, with eyes that were shining with commanding authority. He sauntered up to The Doctor and Martha with a pistol in his hand (though not aimed at them), observing them shrewdly, looking them up and down.

"That's right. Who are you? What you doin' back here?"

The Doctor stepped up to him, sliding his hands into his damp, mud-spattered trouser pockets, and smiled. "Hello! I'm The Doctor. This is my companion Martha Jones – Martha say hello to…" he raised an eyebrow at the man. "Sorry, didn't catch your name?"

"I'm Mister John Grey. Folks call me Mister John. I owns the gist house, and these here is my woods. What you doin' in 'em?"

"Oh, well…we were just passing through, thought we'd go for a nice refreshing dip in the…" The Doctor rubbed his earlobe, uncomfortably, "…creek."

"A dip, huh?" Mister John's eyes slid over to Martha, who stepped away from the tree to stand next to The Doctor.

He raised his torch and got a better a look at the state of them both. They were splattered in mud from the sludgy banks of the creek, their clothes progressively soaked from the torso down. And their clothes were kind of…odd after a fashion. John couldn't quite put his finger on it. He just couldn't place the breeches the woman was wearing, or the blouse that really wasn't no blouse, it looked like a piece of flimsy cloth strung around her curvy frame as an afterthought. She was wearing a jacket – leather and dyed all dark red – but that didn't stop John from observing that her bosoms were only tamed by what looked like black lace visible through her wet, mud-stained top.

"Hiya…" she muttered pointedly, drawing his attention back up to her eyes. She gave John a little wave and a tight smile.

Then the lanky white man – the doctor – inched closer to her and met John's gaze. His expression remained benign, but his eyes flickered with a wary gleam for just a second.

John got an odd vibe from the pair of them. Not just from the clothes, either. And not just because they spoke with accents he had had never heard before. Well…he reached back into the recesses of his memories, and found one source of comparison…a traveling professor who liked to hang around the fancy drinking establishment in town where the white folks got their kicks. John's daddy was a coachman back then and he sometimes let John ride with him when he took the drunken patrons home nights.

Professor Thornton, he was called. He had the same kind of accent as these two, and he used to put his arm around John and tell him stories about places and people with strange names and even stranger customs.

No other white folk ever even _looked_ at John, unless it was to bark an order or say something cruel, let alone got that close to him before. Like he was equal. Like his dark skin didn't matter a little bit.

The professor had a servant, too; she was a mute girl with uncommon features and skin darker than any from around these parts, even with the harsh sun that came out summers. His father told him she was from Africa, and she didn't speak because she didn't know any English. John only saw a glimpse of her a couple of times, but one time in particular stayed with him.

It was when the professor was really swimming in it; real _dirty_ drunk, hardly able to string two words together or breath normal and falling asleep for pockets of time as they made their way to the lodge house where he stayed.

That girl came out of that house after the professor with this _look_ in her eyes, and she clung to that white man and helped him inside without so much as a glance or a thank you to John and his daddy. She only had eyes for the professor.

John thought it was strange – she was his servant, what kind of life must that be, taken from your home and forced to serve a man as he hopped here and there and everywhere, unable to speak the language? But she looked at him like her whole heart and body was tied up in him; like that drunk old white man was her world.

His daddy told him some things just don't bear explaining – they just _is._ And ain't nothing for you to do except let them be.

This Martha woman was looking at this doctor fella just the same way when he was talking to John and the boys before they lowered their guns. Like she couldn't bear any harm coming to him. And the look in the man's eyes just now as he stepped closer to her suggested to John that he was just as protective, though it didn't quite match what she gave. He probably thought of this girl as his possession; something not to be handled by anybody other than him. That was the way of the world that John knew, why shouldn't it be wherever these two come from?

John shook off his thoughts, and observed their muddy clothes, took in their distant accents, and came to the conclusion that they were fool travelers from nowhere near here in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"You usually go dippin' wit all ya clothes on, Doctor?"

"Oh yes! Well – sometimes. When the _mood_ strikes." He elongated the 'ooh' in 'mood' and rolled the 'r' in 'strikes' like his tongue had wheels on it.

This doctor's attitude was starting to bug John. It was very confident, but very cordial – something he wasn't strictly used to with the white folk in this town. He reminded John a lot of the professor, which made him want to trust the man, but in times like these he didn't like anything that had him letting his guard down. Behind him, the boys shifted on their feet, anxious to get back to hunting down the thing that killed Percy.

"Anyway, we just had the pleasure of running into…theeeee…" The Doctor leaned his forehead forward, eyebrows raised, as if trying to remember what John had called the beast a moment ago.

"The demon? You seen it? Where?"

"What makes you think it's a demon?" The Doctor man asked, his manner becoming very serious very quickly.

John considered him for a moment. He took another glance at the woman. She looked shaken up damn good, though she was putting on a pretty mighty show of not letting anyone see it. This doctor however – his manner had shifted in an instant, and he now looked just like John felt. Determined. Angry – righteously so. And perhaps not as fool as John initially thought.

"Because, Doctor…" John uttered. "I ain't never seen no creature like that thing in my life. It ain't natural. And if you saw what it did to my friend…you'd agree the only place it _coulda_ come from is hell."

 

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

 

"This here is Walter Fletcher, we call 'im Fletch. That's Louis Blue over there. And this is Lenny, Buster, and Earl Wilkes, all brothers."

"We ain't twins, though." Buster was quick to supply. "Same mamma, different daddies."

Then Lenny, Buster, and Earl grunted and spit at the same time. "Ah, I see the resemblance." Martha muttered.

The Doctor stood with his hands in his pockets, nodding in greeting as Mister John introduced him and Martha to the other men crowded around them. He kept his manner open and cordial, but he didn't smile.

Their guns put him off, firstly. Secondly, he didn't much like the way John (and the rest of them, in turns) had looked at Martha.

Sometimes he wanted to try talking her into dressing for whatever time period on Earth they found themselves in before they stepped out of the TARDIS. The key concern there being varying conventions of modesty. They'd gone to 17th century Edinburgh once, and Martha had been arrested for wearing 'pantaloons' (her jeans), which were illegal at the time. But The Doctor knew that was a rubbish idea and that she'd be offended – rightly so. Besides which, their ordeal in 1913 had surely put her off period garb for a while yet.

Ah, but then things like this Mister John and his mates appraising her like she was a juicy piece of steak happened, and it tugged at The Doctor's temper.

He couldn't help it when he saw John staring at Martha's chest – he stepped closer to her and gave the man what he hoped was a look that properly expressed what he couldn't say: _get out of it, you._

He also hoped that Martha hadn't noticed. He knew she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but sometimes he could not help feeling an urge to wrap his arm around her and pull her to him so that whomever they were talking to at the time would understand something critical from the off – The Doctor would not lose Martha Jones. Any threat to her was a threat they couldn't afford to make.

So – it was that little quandary, coupled with his aversion to the guns all around him, plus the nagging question of the thing that had nearly snapped Martha clean in two five minutes ago – all currently affecting his mood.

There was no question it was an unlucky host to a nasty lycanthropic transmutation – but how in bloody hell _that_ ended up in _this_ region was beyond him. There were no time rifts hanging about in 1940s Mississippi –none that he recalled, anyway. But then, he hadn't been to these exact coordinates before. He had landed all around within the twenty or thirty years before or after plenty of times, but not _here_.

Not White Station Mississippi, near the Tibbee Creek, on Thursday, May 27th at eleven thirty two p.m.

Martha seemed to sense that he was working something out, because she took up the slack for him, engaging in conversation with the men, explaining the attack.

"We saw it across the creek," Martha explained. "Then it just attacked. We ran for it, but it got the drop on us fast – and then The Doctor…" she trailed off, glancing his way. "Actually, I'm not really sure _what_ The Doctor did."

The Doctor woke from his deep thoughts and nodded that he would take over. "Oh, I just…sort of…stalled it, that's all."

Mister John raised an eyebrow at him. "You _stalled_ it?"

"Yeahhh, well, had to do something didn't I? It almost got Martha's head." The Doctor noticed Martha shiver out of the corner of his eye. He continued, "Then you chaps arrived and off it ran."

"That's bologna, Jack!" Earl muttered. "Ain't no _'stallin'_ this thang we chasin'. Naw sir, no stallin' at all."

"What makes you say so?" The Doctor asked, eyeing Earl inquiringly.

Earl had a way about him – his shoulders were perpetually hunched and he hid his eyes under his cap. His manner was totally unlike Mister John's. When he spoke just now, he did so cautiously, as if the very thought of speaking out of turn made him uneasy. He was clearly the youngest of his brothers, perhaps in his early twenties or late teens. Now, he adjusted his gun in his hands and shifted on his feet.

"You didn't see what it did to Percy, that's what."

The Doctor nodded solemnly. "I'm very sorry about that. Was Percy your friend?"

"Percy was a friend to us all," Mister John replied. "He was a good boy – wouldn't pull the wings off a fly. Got himself cornered by that thing and…"

All the men shifted on their feet uneasily, looking sad and angry about what happened to their friend Percy. The Doctor was angry as well – but not for reasons any of them could understand.

Mister John sighed. "That's why we need to git after it. Can't waste more time standin' round here flappin' our gums. I suggest you and your companion here git on back to where ya wondered away from and lock all ya doors, Doctor."

"If I may," The Doctor stepped forward as Mister John was giving Martha a curt nod of farewell. "I'd like to come with you. I could be of some help."

Mister John – tall and brawny and somber, with flecks of silvery white hairs sprinkling his stubble and the corners of his hairline – frowned at The Doctor. "Females and unarmed doctors ain't got no place on a hunt like this." He grunted.

The Doctor reached deep into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a thin, black billfold. He opened it and flashed the psychic paper at Mister John. "With all do respect, it seems to me that none of you know what you're dealing with. I don't want to see anyone else hurt. Trust me. I can help."

"Ahem." The Doctor turned and saw Martha glaring at him.

He smiled sheepishly at her and turned back to Mister John, clearing his throat. "And Martha can handle herself just fine, as well. She's assisted me on all of my expeditions – she knows what she's doing."

The men all eyed them both suspiciously. He waited. Martha crossed her arms and did the same. Then Walter, a rather round fellow with butterscotch skin who wore suspenders, a bowtie and glasses, shrugged at Mister John. "They might as well, John. We need more eyes and ears."

"Good man!" The Doctor beamed at him enthusiastically. "I _like_ you, Walter Fletcher!"

"Er, mightily obliged, Doctor…?" Walter squinted at him through his thick, wire-framed spectacles.

"Just The Doctor." He turned back to Mister John, who looked annoyed with Walter. But having seen documentation that told him The Doctor was a wildlife specialist and tracker, he was beginning to rethink his position. The man definitely reminded him of the professor. "Now, I suggest we get a move on, because the creature you're looking for is very fast and very strong. Possibly very clever as well. We could lose the moonlight to cloud cover any moment. And something tells me once that happens – well it won't be _good_."

Mister John appraised him for a moment, then jerked his head in the direction of the creek. "Lead the way, Doctor."

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story a couple of years ago, during the height of my Doctor Who obsession. I believe it was my obsession with Ten and Martha that drove me to becoming such an avid Doctor Who fan, and to this day, their season is my favorite. I'm re-posting here from FFNET in hopes that it'll find a new audience, or reawaken those old Martha/Ten feels in an audience that might otherwise be familiar. 
> 
> SPOILER: I'm going to add a special edition epilogue to this re-post that you'll only see here. :P


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